William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

He stared through the acrylic separator at his new client, one Anson Thorpe III. He was a lean man, mid-twenties, scruffy beard and moustache. He did not look great, but the orange coveralls of the Tulsa County Jail rarely improved anyone’s appearance.

“So, um, if I understand this correctly,” Ben said, “the only things you stole were dolls?”

“Not dolls. Action figures.”

“Okay…”

“Do you have any idea how much these action figures are worth?”

“I understand some are collector’s items.”

“And some are beyond collector’s items. This was the classic run of Mego Super-Friends figures. Still the standard-bearer for the entire field.”

“So… they’re particularly attractive action figures?”

“Actually, they make the entire Justice League look like trolls. But they were the first.”

“And they’re valuable?”

“If they’re in good condition.”

Ben tapped his pencil against his lips. “So I’m going to assume the ones you, um, borrowed-”

“Rescued.”

“Rescued from the store…” He checked his file. “Starbase 21, right? They must’ve been in very good condition.”

Anson’s eyes widened. “They were still in their original packaging. That makes them most desirable. So few understand.”

Ben’s brow creased. “What’s the point of having a doll if you don’t take it out of the packaging?”

“It is not a doll!”

“It’s not anything if you can’t take it out of the box.”

“These are not mere toys. These are popular-culture icons. Artifacts of our time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have over two hundred action figures.”

“All still wrapped in plastic?”

“Of course.”

Ben’s eyes rolled skyward. “And they call me a nerd.”

“If you take them out and play with them, their value diminishes dramatically. Practically worthless.”

Ben glanced at his watch. Marty so owed him one. Possibly three. “You decided to take the action figures for yourself?”

“Those barbarians were going to open the packaging!”

“They deserved to die.”

Anson leapt to his feet. “Yes!”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I-” Anson deflated like a leaky balloon. “Oh.”

Ben rifled through his papers. “You used a paint can to break the window.”

“Had to get in somehow.”

“Red paint splattered everywhere.”

“But I got in.”

“And you took the-action figures.”

“Allegedly.”

“And you went home.”

“I definitely went home.”

“Then the police showed up at your door…”

Anson folded his arms across his chest. “Outrageous. Total invasion of privacy.”

“… asking for the action figures…”

“I had to go to the door in my pajamas!”

“… because they followed a trail of red footprints to your front door.”

Anson looked down at his hands. “Yeah… that wasn’t so good.”

Ben stared at him. “Did you fall asleep during crime school or what?”

“I had a lot on my mind.”

“You’ve got a lot more now. Burglary, theft, and criminal mischief, to be specific.”

“My cellmate says you’re a really good lawyer.”

“You don’t need a good lawyer. You need a change of profession. And some kind of twelve-step program for people addicted to action figures.”

“He said you could get me off.”

Ben closed the file. “I couldn’t get you off if your mother was the judge. The state is offering you six months if you return the figures. Take the offer.”

Anson looked at the wall, sulking. “Any more brilliant advice?”

Ben grabbed his coat and headed toward the door. “Yeah. You’re really too old to be playing with dolls.”

Jones paced a circular path around Christina and Loving. “So, are we all together on this?”

“ Comme ci, comme ça,” Christina said. “We’re together in the sense that I’m perfectly willing to listen to you try to convince Ben.” It was not a court day, as evidenced by her attire: a sporty white sailor suit, complete with blue kerchief, short skirt, and blue-brimmed sailor cap.

“Me too,” Loving said, with his usual easygoing grin.

“But will you support me, Christina? You’re Ben’s wife. He listens to you.”

“Yes,” Christina said wearily. “He listens. And then he goes right on doing whatever it is he wants to do. As far as influence goes-well, I can’t allow myself to believe that even for a moment. La grande illusion .”

“Oh, come on now,” Jones said. “We all know wives have ways of persuading their spouses. Ways of… withholding favors.”

“Do you know how long it took that man to propose?” Christina brushed her long strawberry-blond curls behind her shoulders. “I’m not withholding anything.”

“Maybe you should!”

“I dunno about that, Jones,” Loving said, “but I think this gives me a lotta insight into your relationship with Paula.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

“I wondered how she managed to score that big rock on her ring finger. Now I think I know.”

“I gave that to her because I love her!”

“Or hoped to.”

Jones leaned right into Loving’s face. The office investigator was twice as wide and almost a foot taller than the office manager, but that didn’t intimidate him. “Now you listen to me, you big… galoot!”

“Who’s a galoot?”

“You’re a galoot!”

“Do you even know what a galoot is?”

“Well… not exactly. But I know you are one!”

Christina eased herself between them. “Would you two stop acting like third graders? You work for an important attorney and U.S. senator, for Pete’s sake. Show a little je ne sais quoi.” She paused. “Besides, the client might hear.”

“I don’t care if-” Jones stopped short when he heard the jangling bell that told him someone had opened the front door to the seventh-floor offices of Kincaid & McCall. Jones waited a good three seconds until their titular boss reached them.

“No more pro bono cases!” Ben said, flinging his briefcase on Jones’s reception desk.

“Ben!” Christina replied. “You’ve always said it was a lawyer’s duty to help those in need.”

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Ben groused. “I draw the line at morons who leave the police a map to follow.” He did a double take. “What are you wearing?”

She did a little pirouette. “Just a little something I picked up. Do you think I look sexy?”

“I think you look like Donald Duck.”

Loving cut in, presumably to prevent an incident requiring medical attention. “So, Skipper, are you sayin’ you’re too important for cases like that one?”

“I think everyone’s too important for cases like that one. I’m going to call Marty and tell him to take me off the referral list.”

Christina gently laid a finger on his cheek. “Now, Ben. Isn’t that a bit drastic?”

“Do you have any idea how much stuff I have to do right now?”

“Probably better than you, since I look at your calendar occasionally. But you have an obligation to others, don’t you?”

“Well, of course, but-”

“Haven’t you talked about the importance of reaching out a helping hand?”

“Well, yes, but-”

She ran her fingers through his hair and talked in baby talk. “You don’t want to become an old sourpuss, do you?”

He frowned. “All right. I won’t call Marty.”

“Thank you, snookums.”

“And thank you,” Jones muttered, “for demonstrating how he never listens and you have no influence over him.”

Ben’s brow creased. “Why are you three standing around? Don’t you have work to do?”